ACT IV - Scene I.

Was that the King that spurr'd his horse so hard Against the steep uprising of the hill?

BOYET

I know not; but I think it was not he.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

Whoe'er 'a was, 'a show'd a mounting mind. Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch; On Saturday we will return to France. Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush That we must stand and play the murderer in?

FORESTER

Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice; A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

I thank my beauty I am fair that shoot, And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot.

Nay, never paint me now; Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Here, good my glass, take this for telling true:

[Giving him money]

Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

FORESTER

Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit. O heresy in fair, fit for these days! A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. But come, the bow. Now mercy goes to kill, And shooting well is then accounted ill; Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: Not wounding, pity would not let me do't; If wounding, then it was to show my skill, That more for praise than purpose meant to kill. And, out of question, so it is sometimes: Glory grows guilty of detested crimes, When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, We bend to that the working of the heart; As I for praise alone now seek to spill The poor deer's blood that my heart means no ill.

BOYET

Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty Only for praise sake, when they strive to be Lords o'er their lords?

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

Only for praise; and praise we may afford To any lady that subdues a lord.

Enter COSTARD

BOYET

Here comes a member of the commonwealth.

COSTARD

God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.

COSTARD

Which is the greatest lady, the highest?

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

The thickest and the tallest.

COSTARD

The thickest and the tallest! It is so; truth is truth. An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit. Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

What's your will, sir? What's your will?

COSTARD

I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one Lady Rosaline.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

O, thy letter, thy letter! He's a good friend of mine. Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve. Break up this capon.

BOYET

I am bound to serve. This letter is mistook; it importeth none here. It is writ to Jaquenetta.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

We will read it, I swear. Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

BOYET

[Reads] 'By heaven, that thou art fair is most infallible; true that thou art beauteous; truth itself that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say, 'Veni, vidi, vici'; which to annothanize in the vulgar,- O base and obscure vulgar!- videlicet, He came, saw, and overcame. He came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came?- the king. Why did he come?- to see. Why did he see?-to overcome. To whom came he?- to the beggar. What saw he?- the beggar. Who overcame he?- the beggar. The conclusion is victory; on whose side?- the king's. The captive is enrich'd; on whose side?- the beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial; on whose side?- the king's. No, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king, for so stands the comparison; thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags?- robes, for tittles?- titles, for thyself? -me. Thus expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine in the dearest design of industry, DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO. 'Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey; Submissive fall his princely feet before, And he from forage will incline to play. But if thou strive, poor soul, what are thou then? Food for his rage, repasture for his den.'

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter? What vane? What weathercock? Did you ever hear better?

BOYET

I am much deceived but I remember the style.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile.

BOYET

This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court; A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport To the Prince and his book-mates.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

Thou fellow, a word. Who gave thee this letter?

COSTARD

I told you: my lord.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

To whom shouldst thou give it?

COSTARD

From my lord to my lady.

PRINCESS OF FRANCE

From which lord to which lady?

COSTARD

From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine, To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline.

A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady! Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be.

MARIA

Wide o' the bow-hand! I' faith, your hand is out.

COSTARD

Indeed, 'a must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.

BOYET

An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.

COSTARD

Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.

MARIA

Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.

COSTARD

She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; challenge her to bowl.

BOYET

I fear too much rubbing; good-night, my good owl.

Exeunt BOYET and MARIA

COSTARD

By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown! Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down! O' my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar wit! When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit. Armado a th' t'one side- O, a most dainty man! To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan! To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly 'a will swear! And his page a t' other side, that handful of wit! Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit! Sola, sola!